Chapter 7 Mistakes Were Made #3
He took a sip from the stupid mug. The coffee was surprisingly good. Enough to promote it from Warm Caffeinated Liquid.
Blair said, “This is Edward.”
Edward howled at the sound of his name.
Jack regarded the creature. He had googly eyes, and his tongue was hanging out at an odd angle. He looked dopey, even for a beagle. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
What an inane thing to say. Why would he know she had a dog? She hadn’t volunteered that information, and how would he have known to ask? He wasn’t a dog person. He wasn’t an animal person. In his opinion, purchasing a domesticated animal to love you showed weakness of character.
It was just that in his experience, dog people often made their “fur babies” their whole personality. He would have thought that in all those hundreds of texts, she’d have mentioned a dog.
“I have a dog.” She looked down at said dog. “Edward, say hello.”
Edward gave another howl but sat down and stuck out his paw.
Jack interpreted this to mean he was now expected to get off his ass and shake hands with a dog. This, he reminded himself, was why he was leaving. He stayed where he was.
“Edward is named after Edward Cullen,” Blair said.
He searched his memory bank.
“Edward Cullen is the vampire from the Twilight books,” she added.
Of course he was.
“You’re probably thinking I named Esme after Twilight, too.”
He had not been. He hadn’t known there was an Esme in Twilight. He also had no idea who Blair’s Esme was. “Is Esme another dog?” He looked around.
“Esme is my daughter.”
Right. He knew she had one of those. This would be the child who’d just left for college, part of the reason for Blair’s self-professed loneliness.
“Esme was born before the first Twilight movie came out. I hadn’t read the books before I saw the movie, which is unusual for me.
So I didn’t realize there was an Esme in Twilight.
You might be thinking, If you already have a kid named after Twilight, even if accidentally, why would you subsequently name your dog after Twilight? ”
He had not been thinking that, but he was starting to understand the pattern here. He was not required to answer any of Blair’s questions; they were tools to allow her to perform a monologue. He merely had to listen. Or not listen. He checked his watch.
“I was late to the party, but I became a big Twilight fan. When I went to pick up Edward, who was at that point not named Edward, from the breeder, he was outside playing. You’ll notice he’s got atypical coloring for a beagle.”
Jack had not noticed.
“See all those speckles? He was playing under a tree, and as he came running out into the sun and the speckles came into view, I was reminded of how the vampires in Twilight sparkle in the sun, you know?”
He did not know, but again, no answer was required.
“So of course he had to be Edward. How could he not be? Anyway, we’re going on a walk. Want to come?”
He opened his mouth to say no, but why the hell not? He was going to spend much of the day on a plane. And if the current pattern held, he wouldn’t have to talk—Blair was doing enough of that for both of them. “All right, but I need to be back in an hour. A little less than that, actually.”
He waited for her to ask why. It would be his opening to say Well, actually…
It’s not you, it’s me…
It was her, but she didn’t need to know that. He’d insulted Blair Kellermoon twice in their brief acquaintance. Perhaps, when it came to being a decent human being, the third time would be the charm.
She did not remark upon his proposed timeline. She only beamed and said, “I try to be in the office by eight every day, so that’s perfect.”
Jack picked up his monstrosity of a mug, chugged the rest of his lukewarm but still surprisingly good coffee, and got to his feet.
“You want to grab a coat or something?” she asked.
“I do not.” This was, in fact, his ideal temperature. If this was a typical October morning here, he could honestly say that October mornings were his favorite thing about LA.
Fifteen minutes later, he was huffing. They were walking up the hill Blair’s house was on.
She was busting it, and there was nary a drop of sweat on her brow even though she was still wearing the puffer vest. Edward was trotting next to her as if he did this every day, which Jack supposed he did. Edward was fitter than he looked.
Edward was fitter than Jack.
When he got home, he needed to add some cardio to his fitness regimen.
He realized with a start that his back hurt significantly less than it had yesterday. Experimentally, he rotated his torso from side to side as he walked. Stiff, but no pain.
Blair glanced at him but didn’t say anything.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t spoken since they’d set out.
He’d classified Blair as the sort who never shut up, and earlier that morning, as she’d told him about naming various members of her household, she had hewn to type.
But here she was, suddenly, blessedly mute.
Also surprising: the silence between them wasn’t awkward.
In his experience, at events and signings, the most talkative people were the ones who got weird when silence descended.
What would a person not in a cocoon do at this moment? Listen, probably. He could hear the wind, and the background humming of some sort of insect. It reminded him of summer at his dad’s place, on the lake, even though the landscape was different.
His phone rang. He glanced down. “Shit.” If he’d been writing this scene, he would have rejected it for being too pat. Man thinks about father; father calls.
He could decline the call. Dad wouldn’t leave a message. He didn’t do voicemail. Or email. He just expected people to answer his calls, and Jack suspected they generally did.
“Sorry, I have to get this.” He hadn’t spoken to his father since before the leak.
Blair made a gesture of agreement and kept marching.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How’s the book?”
You tell me.
It was possible that his father hadn’t heard about the leak. He read newspapers, but physical ones. The local paper that got delivered to his cabin wasn’t covering literary espionage, and The New York Times, which had written about the leak, Dad purchased on trips into town.
He might not have made one of those lately, since he was working on a book of his own. Arthur Branksome definitely embraced the cocoon method.
“The book is fine,” Jack said carefully.
“Did I interrupt a writing session?”
“No.” You interrupted a walk with a beagle named after a fictional teen vampire. “I’m getting some air.” In Los Angeles.
“Well, isn’t that hardy of you. I heard on the radio that it’s five degrees in the Cities.”
That was unusually cold for late October, even for Minnesota. But it wouldn’t be as cold as—
“Of course, it’s negative two up here.”
“Mm.” Dad always won the I-suffer-but-I’m-hardy contest he perpetually seemed to be having. “Have you been out on the lake?”
“Caught a few perch yesterday. At this rate, the ice fishing season will start before Christmas.”
Jack couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He and his dad didn’t have a history of talking on the phone.
It wasn’t lost on him that his dad had only started calling once In Time came out and began earning rave reviews.
Before that, phone calls had generally been focused on the logistics of their rare visits.
Nowadays, his dad’s calls seemed focused on making sure Jack didn’t miss his new deadline.
In fact, it was odd that he hadn’t opened with that.
“Going to make your deadline?”
There it was.
“Yes,” Jack said, wondering if it was a lie. The more time elapsed, the closer to a lie it became. “Dad, I should go.”
He chuckled. “Head all clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good boy.”
Good boy. It rankled.